Heels
by ClassicalTorture
Summary: The man had never before truly viewed John as a romantic interest, but acknowledging Sherlock's desires, playing them up with him, and taking control as he did, had moved John's room in his mind palace from the important, but still impersonal, second floor west wing, right next to Sherlock's own, and then gave it a conjoined bathroom
1. Put them on

Hello reader dears! It is us once more: ClassicalTorture and SeaStoneChair. We are here with a prequel to The Bar, our other story, already posted. It gives a bit of a background to John and Sherlock's relationship up to the point where The Bar begins, and also helps to explain some of their further behavior. Just like always we do not own Sherlock, all of the rights belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, and Steven Moffat. Enjoy!

John sat on his bed and let out a big sigh. It was a long day. Sherlock acting up and just… being himself all day. It was cumbersome to deal with. They had just closed a case and the man was absolutely delighted. Which meant that while Sherlock was on this short high, he was an absolute mess. He was all over the place and boasting. About everything. John glanced at the clock. 2 a.m. Still he couldn't get to sleep. His thoughts were on what the next case would be and if it endangered Sherlock's life like usual. John opened his phone and started to type. "You still awake? JW" Sent to Sherlock.

"Yes John!" was screamed from the living room at full lung capacity. Sherlock was lying on the sofa, slumped in a surprisingly compact ball, dressed in his blue pajamas and silk robe. His mind was whirling a thousand miles a second, every thought dedicated to a different thing. Tonight's main feeling was that of a satisfaction at a case well solved, and he knew that John will try to feed him. He wasn't all that disappointed at the thought. John had slowly been getting him used to feeding at more regular intervals, and sometimes Sherlock's mind jumped to assumptions of manipulative nature, but after seeing John's cuddly figure in one of his jumpers it calmed and simply quietly enjoyed the attention.

John almost rolled his eyes. He should have expected that. Climbing out of his bed, he pulled a plaid cotton robe on over his pajama pants and tied it before heading downstairs. Once there, his eyes fell upon a curled up Sherlock. Sometimes he couldn't handle how stupidly cute Sherlock looked. Honestly he couldn't believe he thought that at all.

"I'm sure you woke Mrs. Hudson up from your shouting," John said quietly as if he could also wake her up with his words. He padded over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, ignoring whatever human parts may or may not be hidden away in there. After making tea and grabbing a box of cookies form the cabinet he walked over to Sherlock and sat down in his usual chair across from the curled up man.

Sherlock sniffed and his nose filled with the aroma of expertly made tea, and crunchy pastry that seemed to be more and more common to his nose around John. He turned his head, took in his flat mate and decided to roll over completely. His long body stretched across the span of the whole sofa and one arm was hanging off.

"Did you need something, John?" Asked Sherlock while looking at the other man. His eyes swept over the comfortable attire and paused momentarily on the small amount of skin visible just above the collar of John's robe. Then they continued on, as if nothing caught their attention, stopping finally at his eyes with a questioning look.

John handed Sherlock a cup of tea and quickly took a sip form his own as Sherlock stretched like a cat. John tried not to image the lean, taunt muscles under that silk robe contracting and expanding. He hoped that the cup had masked his facial expression enough to hide from his detective friend.

"I couldn't sleep and you never seem to sleep…" John started. He passed a cookie over to Sherlock. "This case today just made me think. You really like the satisfaction of being able to outsmart everyone in the room." He rose an eyebrow at the man on the couch. "And you really like rubbing it in my face."

Sherlock looked at the cookie and sniffed it. He proceeded to open up the double biscuit and started to lap at the vanilla filling inside of it. Then he raised his eyes at John and said: "I am merely pointing the obvious to the rest of the world John. I know I'm smarter, do not see any reason to hide it, and we both know that they are all idiots." As he said it Sherlock kept pausing to occasionally lick his cookie, never once taking his eyes off his flat mate.

"At the same time you are no doubt aware that I place your level of intellect and understanding far above those around me. And if you weren't then you are now." He finished, taking the first bite out of the crumbling sweetness.

John could feel the tips of his ears turn red as he watched Sherlock lick the inside of his pastry. God this man was devilish. "I was aware. But I am also aware of how you get your kicks." He ran a hand through his blonde hair to distract himself from the appealing man in front of him.

"Sherlock, why were you so interested in this case? It was a very easy case to solve without you, even for the police. You were so intent on studying her high heels…" John trailed off and tilted his head to the side a bit in question. Sherlock had seemed very interested in her shoes. John had just now made that realization. It seemed strange, but everything seemed strange with Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes followed John's hand as it swept across his short hair, and for a second imagined it being his own. Pushing that thought away, into a file to be looked and dissected later, he contemplated on the answer. "John do you remember when I said that sex doesn't scare me?"

John's eyes narrowed in questioning. "Yes… but what does that have to do with anything?" He was more curious to the answer than nervous. Everything with Sherlock was surprise and this was just one of those interesting quirks about the man. John put his cup of tea on the table in front of him and focused his full attention on Sherlock.

"As a healthy man I am sure you are aware that almost every individual has a set of attributes that arouse a particular… reaction in them. Some can be as easy as seeing another person naked, other may require auditory, sensory or modified sensation," said Sherlock tracing his eyes of the flat in a decisively bored manner. "I happen to have a combined need to get aroused. It is yet to manifest into anything as I have, for quite the long time, been married to my work."

John stared at Sherlock in silence for a moment. His brain was trying hard to keep up with the topic but it changed from heels to sex to… well Sherlock's arousal. His eyes flicked down from Sherlock's face to the rest of the man's body, trying to read something other than disinterest boredom.

"And?" John prompted. His own eyes went back up to Sherlock's face to see the man was looking anywhere but at him. "Look at me." He wanted to be talked to, not at. Especially when talking about something like this.

"Do I really need to spell it out for you John?" Drawled Sherlock, pulling his eyes off a particularly interesting stain on his armchair back to John's face. "I get aroused by wearing high heels. I get a very pleasing rush of sensation from being able to have the arch of my foot surrounded by fine leather and silk, and having it force me into a fluid shape," said the tall, sprawled man, as he gazed up at his doctor from underneath a nest of curls, fingers playing with the remains of a cookie, flipping it like a coin along his knuckles.

"The woman in that case, was an excellent shoe maker herself. You could see it in her hands and the calluses she possessed, and the amount of leather, and other materials used in the shoemaking business. Her heels were obviously handmade, and made with care, but not by her. It is notoriously difficult to measure yourself and get accurate results, so she must have had a lover do it for her as well as produce the actual footwear.

"On all of her body, only the shoes were left untouched, and not even remotely bloodied, while the rest of her was soaked with splatters. Someone obviously killed her, but then placed their creation on her as a parting gift. Those shoes were never worn, the leather was still stiff, which means he never had a chance to give them to her. Judging from the fact that she was found alongside a naked male, it should not be necessary to explain the rest to you." Finished the genius sleuth.

A small, smug smile tugged at John's lips. He had gotten Sherlock to say it and that was al he really wanted. He got aroused by wearing heels. "Put some on them, Sherlock." That smile grew just a tad bigger. It wasn't a funny smile. It was an I'm-about-to-get-my-way smile. In all honesty John had promptly stopped listening to Sherlock when he finished his second sentence about how the shoe makes him feel. His mind was on other, more urgent things. Such as what he would do to a high heeled Sherlock. Make that sexy man strip out of everything but those heels and finally be able to touch that lithe body of his, John wanted to have his way with the now more feminine man. He wanted it tonight. Chewing on his lower lip, he leaned back and lounged in his chair as he waited.

Sherlock's eyes widened and his breath hitched. He looked at John with disbelief and struggled for once to answer. "Yo-You would want to see me? In heels?" He asked a bit unsure. This was the very first time someone other than his reflection in the mirror was even remotely close to seeing him in such a state, and he was not entirely too sure of the proper etiquette. The cookie disk still held in his loosened grip fell and rolled under the couch.

"Yes," John said his voice suddenly husky. A nervous Sherlock was always a sight to see. "Go put them on." This time he gave Sherlock a more reassuring smile. "Just put them on with what you're wearing. I want to see." He had other plans for the rest of Sherlock's clothing as the night went on. He ignored the cookie as it fell to the ground; he would clean it up later during the day.

Sherlock's wide eyes swept over John's face trying to find a hint of deceit but after finding none, he pushed his hands on the sofa, arched his back and brought his body to a standing position. Looking down at John sprawled quite comfortably in his armchair, hands on the armrests and feet slightly spread, he couldn't help but think that this was the best possible way for him to show off his kink for the first time.

He strode towards his bedroom in haste, the tails of his belt trailing in his wake, and gently closed the door. Sherlock leaned his forehead on it and closed his eyes. He still had the mental image of John's confident smile in his mind and that seemed to cement his decision. The elegant man strode to his closet and opened the door. Digging under his old coats Sherlock pulled out a shoe box. It was a simple cardboard at the first glance and only the curved L that looked more like S with a waved line coming from it and continuing under the rest of the word gave out the actual price of the item inside.

Sherlock tentatively looped two fingers under the lid, flipped it and pulled out two pumps. 120mm leather heel and black lacquered leather reflected the light of his lamp and setting the deep red of the sole into an even downed hue. Sherlock gingerly put on the first and then the second shoe and rose to his full height. He gathered his courage at the feeling of his calf straining and his back arching into proper position, lifting his arse into an inviting upraise. This was it, the moment he had never imagined in his head. The moment someone would see him in his flustered and aroused state.

John stayed where he was at first. He sipped his tea and tried his best to picture the great Sherlock Holmes in heels, but decided to stop. It would do him no good to picture it. He had to see the real thing. Taking a sip from his tea cup, he waited, trying to be patient. His fingers tapped the arms of the chair and his leg was bouncing up and down in anticipation. Usually he was the patient one and Sherlock was the impatient one. The roles were switched tonight. He just hoped Mrs. Hudson would hear anything and be curious enough to walk in on them. Then she might insist on them sharing the floor instead of him sleeping upstairs. Which he wouldn't really mind…

John shook his head. He was getting off track. He was waiting for his tall friend to come back in even higher heels. "Sherlock?" John called when it seemed to be taking a while. He wondered if he should come to Sherlock's bedroom instead, but decided to wait a few more minutes.

Sherlock stepped up to the doorway and put one hand on the frame to steady himself a bit. His eyes were downcast and he was uncertain of John's reaction to his look. He stepped through and swept towards his flat mate, clicks echoing off the suddenly very quiet space, as he came closer and closer. Finally he reached the other man's sprawled form and stopped in front of him.

The clacking of heels made John turn his head towards the sound, and his jaw dropped. Not in a dramatic way, but in a slow and astounded way. The way Sherlock looked in those heels… John's eyes started at the feet. His feet looked delicate and beautiful in the extraordinary high heels. John knew the heels made his calves look so much more toned and muscled, still in a feminine way. John leaned forward in his chair.

"Take the robe off so I can see more." He said it in the calmest tone he could muster. It was a hard task to do seeing as this was the most arousing thing John had ever seen in his life. He wanted to drink in Sherlock wearing the heels and he wanted to savor it. "I need to see more." John's eye met Sherlock's blue eyes as he whispered the words.

Sherlock was standing in front of John and not for the first time in his life feeling… ogled… for some reason, when the ogling was being done by John though, he found he did not mind at the slightest. Hearing the breathy request made him flush and turn his eyes away to the floor. He raised his arms and tugged at the collar of his silk robe letting it slide past his arched back shoulders, long arms and stopped for a second, hanging on his violinist fingers. After a second delay the robe fell to the ground and pooled at his feet, creating a halo of silk around the well loved leather pushing up his arches. Sherlock shuddered as he felt the slightest caress of silk on his ankles and looked hesitantly at John.

"Is it good then?" He whispered.

John's breath hitched. _That _was the sexiest thing he had seen in his life. Not the image before, but the image of Sherlock nearly stripping down. He had a feeling this was just about to get better and better. Sherlock was shocking, to say the least, even if the man was still in his blue pajamas.

"Almost," John said. He knew what he wanted, but he didn't want to scare this Sherlock away. He liked this side of him. He liked it a lot. John wanted to reach out and take a hold of the man in front of him, but if he moved, his now extremely tight pants would become very noticeable.

"Sherlock… You shouldn't keep this hidden from me. You look spectacular." John cleared his throat again. It was starting to sound deeper and huskier again.

The sounds of someone's voice have never been on the list of things Sherlock found particularly interesting, but when John's dropped an octave and started sounding so deep, and dare he say velvety, he couldn't help but give a slight shudder.

"I have never had an occasion when my… likes… would have been out in the open, John, and it is not something that I just come out and say to a flat mate. Hello, my name is Sherlock; I play the violin and get off on wearing leather pumps. You'd run before I finished the sentence." Huffed Sherlock.

The lean man shifted slightly, putting his weight on one side, and resting his hand on that hip. It stretched his pants on the front and made visible a delectable curve of his leg as it stretched straight and downwards, arching into an elegant sweep, and a seemingly unresisting morph into the shining black leather that curved around his suddenly delicate looking foot. Sherlock's eyes were locked with John's and being partially shaded by the curtain of brown curls that surrounded his face. Indigo eyes looked at the doctor, seeming seeking reassurance.

A big smile spread on John's face as Sherlock got more and more sassy. He just couldn't take a compliment. "Well I'm not running now, am I?"

John took this time to stand from his chair, hoping Sherlock's eyes would stay locked on his own instead of looking anywhere down in his pants area. He absentmindedly tightened the belt on his robe so it would block the bulge more. John had to look up to look in Sherlock's eyes but it wasn't what he was focused on now. John stood in front of Sherlock and touched the man's pajamas.

"These really need to go too." A hand lightly traced the outside of Sherlock's thigh through his pants. The way he was standing, with his hands on his hips. John bit his lips as his eyes trailed from one leg to the other. So feminine and so delicate.

Sherlock's eyes widened and his breath stopped for a moment before returning with a sharp hiss. His gaze remained on John, but his hands moved from their previous position to settle almost delicately on the soldier's arms. An almost unnoticed movement of the hips pulled them an inch closer as Sherlock continued watching. He leaned his head closer to the other's ear and said softly, "Then why don't you… assist… me?"

John's hands immediately got to work. His fingers deftly began to unbutton Sherlock's pajama shirt. It was only a matter of seconds before John pushed it of his shoulders and onto the floor with the robe. Hands and eyes began tracing all over Sherlock's chest. Over his strong shoulders and lean torso. John lightly ghosted his fingertips across the man's pink nipples and then began their descent to his pants. His index fingers trailed along; tracing muscles and scares they might come across. John leaned down and very lightly brushed his lips up to Sherlock's bellybutton as a tease. He stayed leaning down as he gripped onto the elastic of Sherlock's pants. He glanced up at Sherlock's face before continuing.

He himself was thoroughly aroused and ready for more. Ready for _so _much more. But he had to make sure Sherlock was also. John refused to speak as he knew his voice would betray everything he was feeling so he just depended on Sherlock to read his face.

As Sherlock looked down towards John he could see a multitude of emotions, and most of all… hunger. He put his hands on John's head, and ran his fingers through closely cropped hair and marveled at the soft feel. He tilted the other man's head up so he could have a better look at him and after a moment gave the tiniest of nods.

And that's all it took. In one swift movement Sherlock's pants were on the floor with the rest of his clothes. John planted a soft kiss on his now bare hip before stepping back and looking at everything. Finally he could see Sherlock's legs without clothes in the way and his assumptions earlier were right.

The muscles were so much more prominent because of the heels and his ankles looked so fragile… Sherlock's thighs also looked much more toned and muscled because of the heels. It was all showing so much more and John wanted it all. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath to steady his desire. "Turn around for me," he finally spoke. His voice _did _give everything away. Lust laced every word and strong arousal intertwined with every letter. He wanted to admire Sherlock and get his fill.

A deep flush set in every inch of his body as Sherlock ever so slowly stepped and turned around. He turned slightly and looked at John over his shoulder before giving a fleeting smile and turning fully. His back was straight, shoulders leaned back as if supported by invisible cushions, and he felt his arse lifted into perfect shape, high and curved.

Muscles strained and clenched as he put more pressure on one foot or the other, pulling at his skin and making his legs seem longer and even slimmer. He could feel John's eyes mapping the expanse of his back, and then settle his hands on his shoulders, giving himself and embrace. Sherlock's long fingers wrapped around his own biceps and gave a sharp squeeze, bringing more color to the area. "Is this to your liking?" he asked breathily.

By then John's breathing was nearly panting. He was using every inch of his strength and will to keep himself from ravaging Sherlock's body. Especially when his eyes fell upon Sherlock's perfect little arse. Well, not little right now. John took a small step forward and placed a hand lightly on the small of Sherlock's back, eyes still on that arse. The other hand once again ran up his thigh, but this time it moved to cup one cheek of Sherlock's ass. John let out a loud breath. He leaned in and placed kiss after kiss along an invisible trail on Sherlock's back.

"Sherlock," John whispered. Both of his hands grasped the naked man's waist. "Let me have you." The words were said between kisses and John spun Sherlock back around to face him. Eyes met. "Please." John needed this. All the pent up sexual tension between them. They both needed this.

Sherlock leaned against John, sagging as he pulled him closer and weaved his hands around the shorter man's neck. He mentally compared John's stature to his own, and found that John's compact and muscled body was contrasted finely with his own. His hand buried themselves in the other man's hair again, and then slid down his scalp and throat, continuing down his clavicle and pulling at the robe that hid his prize. As Sherlock slid slowly to his knees, he undid the article fully and tugged at it, willing it to come off. As soon as it fell down, Sherlock scooted back against the sofa, leaning on it and splayed his incredibly long legs in a gesture that could not be mistake for anything then blatant invitation. Complete with come hither eyes, he made delectable illustration of debauchery and bohemia, as he bent the knees and pulled his legs slightly in, making sure that the impossibly long heels of his leather pumps were resting fully on the wooden floor.

John let a tiny groan rumble in the back of his throat as Sherlock ran his hands through his blonde hair and downward. Finally John was one article of clothing closer to being naked. But as Sherlock deliciously spread his legs for John, he took it upon himself to push his pants down and step out of them.

Both of them were naked and both of them were painfully obviously erect. He fell down to his knees and gasped one leg at the ankle. His hands ran up the ankle, feeling the muscle softly. He planted a kiss on the inside of Sherlock's knee before his hands slowly found their way up the inside of his thigh. Oh how John wanted to tease Sherlock. He wanted the man to completely forget his own name and he had a feeling that would take a lot more than just a good ol' romping.

John's heart was pounding in his chest as his eyes did their own ravaging of this man's body in front of him. His hands began to work on the other leg as John suddenly leaned up and kissed Sherlock on the lips. Hard. The first time he kissed him the entire night, well his entire time living with the man. His passion and desire bled through the kiss as his naked body leaned up against the other's nakedness.

Sherlock moaned as he felt John's unforgiving lips settle on his and claim them. This was not the first time he was kissed, but it might as well have been, as this was the culmination of months and months of sexual frustration and desire. The man had never before truly viewed John as a romantic interest, but acknowledging Sherlock's desires, playing them up with him, and taking control as he did, had moved John's room in his mind palace from the important, but still impersonal, second floor west week, right next to Sherlock's own, and then gave it a conjoined bathroom.

The taller man leaned all of his being into the soldier and felt his hard chest press back against his own leaner one .Long legs rose and settled around John's hips, and heels dug into his back, in an attempt to bring him in even closer.

John's body was flush against Sherlock's, their erections rubbing against each other and he lost all thought. His brain promptly shut down and instincts kicked in. His kiss with Sherlock deepened considerably as he smoothly slid his tongue in when Sherlock moaned. As his tongue danced with the others, his hands swept the long expanses of Sherlock's legs and sides. They finally settled on his waist once more and gripped tightly as he ground his hips into the others. Another groan escaped his lips and into Sherlock's. Those legs that kept him securely in place against Sherlock were only urging him onward. The heels digging into his back turned the pain into pleasure. John broke the kiss and trailed kisses and small bites down Sherlock's long neck and down to his collarbone where he began to give the other man a love bite.

Alright dear readers! Wait for part 2, it will be coming soon, and tell us what you think! Also please review, fav and follow as all those things warm us in these cold cold months!


	2. Take them off

Ans here is the second and final part of Heels, the prequel to The Bar, as written by ClassicalTorture and SeaStoneChair. All the rights to Sherlock belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, and Steven Moffat.

For the first time in his life Sherlock's brain turned off. He had no thoughts, no deductions, and no conclusions fluttering around his mind. Only one word beat against his cranium as he arched his neck to give this beautiful monster more ground to cover: JOHNJOHNJOHN. He felt red hot hand trailing his sides and gripping his hips in a bruising hold and thought that there would never be any moments more perfect then this. And then John slithered down and started to bite Sherlock's neck and collar bone, and mark him, and suddenly Sherlock felt that this mark would be there forever, showing anyone who looked at him who Sherlock's body and mind now belonged to.

John kept on until the mark was bright and red, then moved to make more marks. _Many_ more. He wanted to be on the bed, both of them so he could devour the entirety of Sherlock. John wanted to taste and memorize every inch of him down to the very last scratch on his body. Hands were everywhere at once. Wanting more, needing more. And, god, this man was perfect. Those lean muscles under the skin... He wanted to see how those muscles would react to a much more intense change of pace. John stood, keeping Sherlock wrapped around him, and walked them to his bed and then promptly let go of Sherlock, watching him fall back down on the soft bed. Eyes trailed over every inch of that beautiful body.

A feeling of weightlessness overcame Sherlock and suddenly all he could feel was John and his strong grip on his body as the soldier marched them into the bedroom not once easing his hold. Sherlock wrapped his legs tighter around the man and felt the delicious bite of hard leather into his feet as he crossed the ankles and pressed the heels into John's back. And then a momentarily suddenness of a drop and he was sprawled on Johns bed, arms at his side and lean long legs that carried the only article of clothing left, making indents on John's cream colored duvet. Sherlock lifted his eyes up at the only man to bring out such feelings of desire from him and promptly raised his arms in an inviting gesture, making sure to make room for him between his legs.

John couldn't believe this was happening, but he didn't waste time on thinking about it. He promptly crawled between those spread legs and finally had full access to that body. His hot mouth left kisses trailing down Sherlock's chest and stomach, down to his navel. Hands gripped Sherlock's arse for a moment when he glanced up at the desire-ridden man on the bed. John left a hard bite on Sherlock's prominent left hip bone. He backed up for a moment and quickly stripped his clothes off of his body. Once naked he was once more between those legs, only this time it was skin on skin. Fire bloomed under his skin where ever they touched and he almost couldn't handle the sensations.

Sherlock cried out as he felt the sharp sting of a bite in the tender area of his hip and couldn't help but think that if only John put a bit more pressure into in, Sherlock would've been left with a real love-bite. He trailed his languid eyes over John as the other man quickly and efficiently rid himself of his wear and enjoyed every bit of skin that was being presented to him. John's body was compact, powerful, and build for strength, rather than Sherlock's speed, and he didn't think that there was anyone else who would fit it as well as John did. His eyes landed on the man's shoulder and stayed on the rose bursting scar that took on a mass of space. Sherlock wanted to explore the tissue there so much his tongue swiped over his lips in anticipation. He couldn't wait for a chance to taste the skin there and on the rest of John's body, imprint it in his memory and know intimately the difference in taste and texture of every body part.

And then John was on him like a starving man on his first men in weeks, and Sherlock couldn't breathe. The air stopped coming in and only John's body made any sense. Sherlock arched his back and wrapped his arms around the man, clutching desperately at him in an attempt to fuse the two together. He could feel John's heartbeat through his own chest cavity and in his delirious mind they matched.

John didn't think he could take more of this fooling around. Sherlock was absolutely maddening with his absolutely delectable he was being. That slim body writhing under him was what he was missing since the first day they had met. Hands tangled in the brown tangled mess of hair and pulled. He ground his hips in a thrusting rhythm against Sherlock's and closed his eyes from the pleasure that pooled in his gut.

John was going to burst from how intense his hunger was for Sherlock. He slid down Sherlock's body once more and knelt between his legs and took a moment to cool down from his high. His hands were now on those long legs, running from the thigh to the ankle. He planted kisses around that small ankle and on the top of his foot before gently sliding off the heel. John loved the heels, but he didn't want them to poke a hole in his mattress... He moved to the other foot and kissed the same areas before removing that shoe too. Then he moved up that leg and planted the softest kiss on Sherlock's inner thigh so close to his erection, it was teasing. Glazed eyes looked up the line of Sherlock's body at the man's face, watching.

As John moved down his body one thought was running through Sherlock's mind :"Oh...So this is how I will lose it..." It was true that sex didn't alarm him, he just never had it. But as John glanced up at him from the valley of his legs, having just kissed his feet, in Sherlock's mind literally worshiping him, he could not think of a better man to take him. So Sherlock brought his foot slightly up and trailed the toes lightly over Johns back, up his arm and pushed the heel into the back of his shoulder, bringing the other man closer to what was now rightfully his in Sherlock's opinion.

He had just firmly decided that John would be his only, as the one to encourage his love of heels, his intellect, his habits, and tolerate him on daily basis. With a lavish stretch Sherlock arched his back and raised his arms to hold onto the headboard of John's bed, baring his body completely and accepting whatever the other had in store for him.

An almost violent shudder ran through John's body as he watched this _magnificent_ creature before him. John licked his lips and then proceeded to run his tongue up the shaft of his partner's manhood. He wanted to hear Sherlock completely lose his mind, he wanted to see Sherlock become overcome by desire and the need for John. He wanted Sherlock to need him.

John took Sherlock's head in his mouth and swirled his tongue around the tip. His hands were firmly planted on Sherlock's waist and he was holding on tight. John slowly eased his mouth down, eyes seemingly permanently watching Sherlock's reactions. His own body was telling him to get on with it, to _fuck_. And oh John wanted to give in to his body, but something about Sherlock made him want to take his time. Something about him made John want to just see Sherlock lose it like he's never seen before.

At the first swipe of the scalding tongue Sherlock froze. His eyes opened wide, his mouth puffed out a little breath or air, and all of his muscles clenched tight not knowing what to expect. When the wet heat enveloped his head Sherlock's mouth opened on its own accord and let out a tiny sound, that was more of a mewl then anything coherent. He felt pals grip his waist, he felt the tickle of John's hair on his tender inner thighs, and the slight stubble of the other as it dug into his soft perineum. Most of all though, Sherlock felt the _wet,_ _moist,_ _so good_, _never felt anything like it_. As the actions continued Sherlock's brain shut off completely and only sensation and instinct remained. At the next swipe of that tongue Sherlock shut his eyes, threw his head back and let out a moan that echoed throughout the whole apartment.

And that was it for John. He answered Sherlock's moan with a groan of his own while he continued to bob his head. John reached up and showed Sherlock his index and middle finger. Only for a second he withdrew from Sherlock's erection.

"Suck," he commanded before going back down and doing just that on Sherlock. John needed to prep Sherlock for his first time that much he was still vaguely aware of. He pushed his fingers in Sherlock's mouth, needing some sort of lubrication. His other hand moved down between Sherlock's legs and kneaded at his sensitive balls. John couldn't get enough of this, and when he would soon be inside of Sherlock... his own erection twitched at the thought. John was memorizing everything that was happening. Every arch of the back and every sound... he was storing it away in his safebox in his mind. Sherlock may have had a mind palace but John only had a safebox that held the few precious things he owned. This was being stuffed in there as it happened.

Sherlock was only vaguely aware of something being held in front of his face, but as he managed to get his eyes to focus, his lips were already wrapping themselves around the offered digits like they were the most succulent treat in the world. Sherlock tasted the slightly salty skin of the digits, swiping and swirling his tongue around them, and trying desperately to match the movement of their owner that was doing incredible things to his cock. Sherlock felt the fingers in his mouth move and grasped them with his teeth, lightly nibbling at them, and not wanting them to go.

Another quiet moan escaped John's lips as he felt those teeth scrape at his fingers when he pulled them out. Quickly he moved them down to Sherlock's arse and prodded at his hole. He knew he needed to be gentle, but it was honestly so hard with Sherlock. A finger slid in, only pausing when it met resistance, then it was fully in and John did something he had been wanting to do this entire time. He curled that finger and rubbed it against Sherlock's prostate as his mouth went down, far down, on Sherlock's cock. John didn't even need Sherlock's reaction to it to know that he, himself, had nearly lost control. Another finger was added and he stretched and prepped him. One thought bounced in John's head at that moment. _Fuck. Him. Hard._ Over and over and over it whispered in his head.

Sherlock curled his back desperately and clutched at John's hair, bringing his knees closer to his body and not even trying to suppress the sobs that escaped his mouth when he felt John's throat constricting against the head of his cock. As soon as the other man swallowed him, Sherlock's head flopped on the pillow and his legs fell apart, exposing himself to the mercy of his tormentor. He could feel every nerve ending in his body becoming hyper-sensitive, and struggling to comprehend what was happening to it. Sherlock felt John's fingers as they probed and stretched his ass, he felt the straining pressure and the sharp sting of pain, when the man pushed two of his digits into Sherlock's previously untouched hole.

He has never experienced anything even close to this sensation, and couldn't understand how /anything/ could feel as good as John did right now. The room in Sherlock's mind palace labeled "John" trembled and shuddered, and after a moment affixed itself permanently to Sherlock's own. There were no more corners in his mind that were not open to John if he was only to ask, and as Sherlock raised his eyes, tinted in lust to John's own, he uttered the word that sealed his fate: "John..."

John pulled up and off of Sherlock, fingers pulled out and almost immediately the head of his cock was pressed where they were. John placed both hands on either side of Sherlock's head and moved his legs so they were over his shoulders. He had a moment of clarity in the moment before he did anything. He saw everything about Sherlock. The way that Sherlock's face was contorted to such pleasure and need. Those eyes... _those eyes_ burned holes into John's. He leaned down and nipped at Sherlock's neck once more. John hadn't pushed in yet, he was waiting.

"Say it," his voice was octaves deeper and husky when he spoke. He wanted to hear Sherlock tell him to fuck him. He was barely in control of himself as he gave Sherlock another mark on his neck, this time much higher than the other one. John sucked the skin hard and gently pushed his cock against Sherlock's ass, not to thrust in, but just to give both of them a delicious tasting of what was about to behold both of them.

Sherlock felt John push into him, and restrain himself and mewled with need. He wanted John's cock, he needed it in him! As he heard John's order words fell from his lips without him even trying:"Fuck me John! I want your cock, I want it, I want _you_!" With that Sherlock relaxed his hole and pushed out, ready to take John in.

John did exactly that. He pushed his cock far in Sherlock's tight little hole and closed his eyes, holding back any sounds. If it was this good starting... John pulled out and thrust back in. Oh, _god_. He gradually picked up his pace until he had a steady rhythm going. A hand found its way back to Sherlock's cock and pumped it to the same rhythm. A spark lit in his gut as he felt the tight, warmth around his cock. He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling and the musky smell of sex that was filling the room, mixed with the scent of Sherlock that was all around him. "Nngh... Sherlock," John moaned his name quietly into his neck, lips all over that neck and nibbling his way around when he could remember to.

Sherlock's legs dropped from John's shoulders and wound up tightly around his waist instead as the man clutched John, desperately trying to hold on against the onslaught of sensation that was overwhelming him. Hot and hard, John's cock felt amazing as it stroke against the walls of Sherlock's hole, and he tightened his grip with the last remnants of his strength. His arms came around the soldier's wide shoulders and clutched at his neck tightening around the short hair it could reach. Sherlock locked his eyes on the other's face and was amazed at the display of feelings that played on it, as John thrust deep into his body, and bumped against his sweet spot.

His eyes closed as sink with his mouth opening and letting out moan after moan, not even trying to restrain himself, and not giving a damn about who could hear them at 3 AM in a busy day. All of Sherlock's being was concentrated around his lover, his _first_ lover. As he felt a particularly sharp thrust, Sherlock angled his head and sunk his teeth into the neck of the man above him, trying as hard as he could to leave a mark of his own, to proof to the world that not only was he John's but that John was off-limits to everyone but himself as well.

John let out an almost feral groan when teeth met his own neck. Finally. He wanted a mark from Sherlock; he wanted everyone to know he was Sherlock's. He wanted them to know he would never be with anyone else from this point on. The tight hold of Sherlock's legs around his waist secured him into a hard, pounding speed. Hair pulling, loud moans and just all around pure sex that Sherlock had turned into was all John knew. His life before this moment had ceased to exist and that build began. That build of unadulterated pleasure. John wanted so badly to go longer. He wanted to do this for hours, but Sherlock was too much to handle.

He was too perfect, too sexy, _too Sherlock_. His steady rhythm turned into a frantic, almost disorganized thrust. He needed Sherlock; he needed to stay inside of Sherlock. Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. That was the only thing in his empty mind. His breathing had turned into panting and his heart was nearly pounding out of his chest. John let another, needy, hungry, _so close_ groan rumble from the back of his throat and his eyes opened and he focused on Sherlock's face. So close...

Sherlock felt his cock slide between their bellies and kept his teeth and tongue running over his chosen spot on John's neck. No one else was allowed to tough what was his, and if anyone tried there would be hell to follow. Sherlock was a vengeful man, and not ashamed of it. John was his and his alone now and not even Mycroft could change that.

As he felt his lover's movement become more and more frantic Sherlock moved his hand between the two bodies and gripped his cock, sliding his fist around it, and pumping himself to completion. His head was thrown back as he felt John sink into him deeper than he had before, and reach places Sherlock was not even aware he had. His eyes slit open and were caught in the fiery passion that was John. The flush that has spread all over Sherlock's body during the sex, suddenly concentrated on his face, as he was overcome by shyness at the face of such lust and desire, and something else he couldn't identify. Then John struck his prostate and Sherlock was gone. White blinded him, a floating sensation, followed by a feeling of blissful release, and then he was overtaken by blackness.

John couldn't even handle himself at this point. Seeing that orgasmic look on Sherlock's face as he came shoved John over the edge of the cliff as he spiraled down into the most intense orgasm he had ever had. He thrust deep into Sherlock as he came, color burst from somewhere behind his eyes as he pumped the last bit of his seed into Sherlock. His hips slowed and his body shook from the intensity. His world was foggy still as he climbed down from his orgasm slowly. He slumped next to Sherlock, sliding out of his spent body.

"Sherlock...?" Was all he could mumble as his own body let out one last shudder. He had never, in his life, felt anything like that. Such lust, passion, and hunger had overtaken him like nothing else. Sherlock had created a monster out of John from the moment they started this. When Sherlock didn't answer John the first time, his cloudy mind seemed to become clearer.

"Sherlock." This time he nudged his partner, his lover. His vision returned to normal and he could finally see Sherlock.

John pushed up on his elbow to get a better look at Sherlock. His eyes were closed, face completely relaxed. He looked like he passed out. John lightly shook Sherlock.

"Love, what..?" He shook Sherlock just a bit harder the next time. Worry began to fill his tired bones when Sherlock wouldn't respond to him. He really didn't want to have to get Mrs. Hudson to help him and explain this situation.

Sherlock came to at the feeling of the earth moving under him. His mind was blissfully blank, and as his eyes slid open and rested on John's worried face above him Sherlock slid his hand to it and smiled. He didn't even know he had a smile like that! At the moment was anyone to look at Sherlock Holmes, detective extraordinaire, they would see a man with a completely relaxed expression on his face, and a small, tender smile, that was directed at one man, and one man only. For he be the only one to ever see it.

John let out a sigh of relief. He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on the man's smiling lips. "You scared me for a moment." John flopped back down on the bed beside Sherlock and traced a finger softly, gently over his sweat covered chest. He was exhausted, but he still wanted more of Sherlock. Just to be with him at this point and to drown Sherlock in his emotions.

"You..." John started, voice hoarse. "You are stunning." His eyes were half lidded as they looked at Sherlock's face. A lazy smile on his lips.

For once Sherlock did not have an answer and decided to use his body to show his appreciation instead. He rolled over to his side facing John, aglow with the post-coital illumination, traced his eyes over the splatters of cum on both their bellies, and then snuggled under John's arm, lifting his leg and wounding it around the other's hip. Sherlock's arm came to rest on John's chest, next to his own head, as it scooped a bit of the sticky substance off the man's body and brought the finger to his mouth tasting it. Finding the taste acceptable, Sherlock trailed his finger lower, and got some of the cum off John's cock, swirled it between his fingers and then popped the stained digits into his own mouth.

John watched as if in a trance. Sherlock was doing the most glorious, filthiest thing and John absolutely loved it. "Fuck, Sherlock," He whispered. His heart skipped a few beats as his eyes fixated on Sherlock's fingers in his own mouth, remembering what it felt like to have John's fingers in his mouth. One arm wrapped around Sherlock, holding him even closer. His newly clear eyes almost clouded over again, but not from arousal. From something else that tugged at his heart. Somehow this man in his arms was everything perfect and everything to John. He felt a lump start at his throat and he cleared it, trying to make it go away so he wouldn't scare Sherlock off with those types of feelings.

Sherlock felt the arm he was snuggled under tighten around his shoulders and pull him even closer to the warm body. As he finished getting the cum off his fingers Sherlock raised his eyes up to John's face and was met with warm eyes that seemed to suck him in, like he did clues on a case. The feelings swirling in them made Sherlock stop breathing and forced his heart to work harder. As the man was thinking about it he came to a startling conclusion. He was in love. He already knew that if there was one person in the whole world that even had the potential to be Sherlock's John would be it. But to actually realize that John Watson was the love of Sherlock's life was...astounding. And frightening.

Sherlock was passionate, he loved his job, he was bored with a passion, he lived through emotions of others as they filtered through him, and when John's were presented they clogged him. The affection, the want, desire, need, the sheer feeling of right overwhelmed him. But Sherlock was never one to keep things bottled up. If his deductions of tonight's actions were correct, then he would not be met with resistance. "John. I love you."

John blinked and stopped breathing. He mouthed silent words as his brain slowly tried to cling to those words. He was lost for a moment, his grip on reality failing. Sherlock loved him. Had he read his mind? John finally let his puff of air out when he felt his lungs burning and it clicked. His mind finally engulfed those words and shoved them in the center of everything so it was the sun and his other thoughts were forced to orbit around those words.

"Oh, Sherlock," John kissed those lips, love flowing freely between their conjoined lips until he broke away. "I love you, too. So much." He went back to that kiss and moved his other arm into Sherlock's hair. Not to pull, but to just hold him. John rest his forehead against Sherlock's, eyes closed, and he relaxed. Everything went from their closed case to those sexy heels Sherlock showed off for him, to their intense sex to this. He could hardly keep up, but it didn't matter. As long as he was at this point, here and now.

John's heart was about to burst with affection for his new lover. He could feel his, also newly formed, love bite on his neck from Sherlock send a small wave of numbness down his neck and a ridiculous smile spread across his lips. How was he going to go to work with /that/?

That's all folks! Now get your chops over to The Bar to see what happens next, but don't forget to review, and favorite this story, because it makes us so very berry happy.


	3. Happy Holidays

So this is not an update, but rather a wish for a Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and any of the other holidays you, my dear readers, celebrate in December. More updates will be coming after a few days, hang in there. Happy Holidays!


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